“Submitting to Calveron now will not bring peace and you know it. Yes, we have a duty to our people, but duty does not have to mean giving away your only daughter?—”
His fist slammed on the table. “Do you think I want this? Alora, believe me when I say I wish there was another way. But we cannot win this war!”
She flinched from his shout but set her jaw. “If… I found a way,” she said quietly, “Would I still be bound to marry?”
“The Seven lift me,” he groaned. “Alora?—”
“Please.” Her voice broke. Her hands curled at her sides until her knuckles ached. “Would I be free to live the way I wish?”
He hesitated.
Alora stared at her father earnestly, begging him to care about her for once. The little girl in her pleaded not to be thrown away again.
Her father exhaled a breath. “Should the Seven be so kind as to bless us with such fortune, and you truly could stop Calveron… then you would not be forced into marriage.”
Her heart surged with a spark of hope. He frowned down at the documents in his hand, done with the conversation.
“Do I have your word?”
He waved his quill dismissively. “Yes, I swear upon the Gates.”
She gave a single nod and turned to go.
“What could one girl possibly do to stop an army without one of her own?” Laurent scoffed feebly, half chuckling, as if the idea was an absurdity. He shook his head, weary and resigned. “This is the Fates have given us, Alora. The gods will not help us.”
She faced him, her voice low but unyielding. “Then perhaps a demon will.”
Laurent stared at her, taken aback. The rain hammered harder against the windows. Lightning flashed outside, thunder rattling the glass. Candlelight sputtered and shadows danced over the walls, stretching like serpents above his head.
“What are you saying?” he asked quietly.
“You may have given up,” she murmured. “But I will not abandon Argyle to die… the way you did Mother.”
Her father froze, exhaling sharply. The quill slipped from his fingers and ink splattered across the page. He stared at her, but no defense came.
And Alora walked out.
CHAPTER 12
Alora
Alora ran down the corridors, lantern clutched in hand. She had slipped free from her guards again and moved silently now so as not to be caught. Voices came down another hall. She quickly drew behind pillars as servants strolled by. Evening had fallen, the castle buzzed with chatter discussing the spectacle of the banquet.
Once the coast was clear, she ran toward the forbidden wing of the castle that used to belong to her mother. The one place she was sure to be undisturbed.
Alora turned a corner and she hurried down a dark, unlit corridor. A child’s laughter echoed somewhere as if rooted within the walls.
Goosebumps sprouted on her arms.
She kept going until she reached another door carved with trees. Her mother’s garderobe.
Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped inside. It was pitch black. Alora lifted the lantern and her heart jolted at the manyfigures standing before her. Mannequins of dresses on display, moth-eaten and coated in spider webs.
Her heels left imprints on the floor. No one had entered here in years. If her luck was in favor, then everything would have been left untouched.
Alora made her way through the rows of garments until she reached the back wall. She smiled at the large rectangular frame resting against it, covered with a heavy cloth.
Her mother’s mirror.
